


Silent Dreams

by rextyle



Category: Rick and Morty, Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Everything is a work in progress, Horror, Mystery, Psychological Horror, literally everything is symbolic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rextyle/pseuds/rextyle
Summary: The town, it calls to him. Yearning and speaking softly at night, to take him away, to give into something...more. Silent Hill/Rick and Morty fic. Morty’s POV.
Relationships: nope
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	1. Amortia: the Dark Rickscent

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: If this ever takes off from my brain to paper, it will probably be long. Also I only write for kicks and shits, normally I am a strict man of fine RP. If you want to RP R&M or the such either, please hit me up, that is my typical jam. I’d be more than happy. 
> 
> You absolutely do not by the way need to know zip or zap about Silent Hill to understand this fic either tbh. It’ll be pretty thoroughly delved into throughout and easy enough to follow, at least hopefully. Just think psychological horror mind fuckery and you’re decent. Also, the first chapter's a bit of a drag to get through. I'll definitely be rewriting every earlier piece later in.

Morty had been having strange dreams. Well, really, he typically _always_ had strange dreams. Particularly ever since Rick had come moved, altered all arrangements and settled permanently into his life. Normally though, they were filled endlessly with running impossibilities and terrifying monsters, life or death, school or dumb nonsense abstracts that never made any sense; those alone calling back to a time before his grandfather. Some too were filled with Jessica, some were weird, awkward and downright horrifying, some horrible teenage puberty related crap, and others, others were just...straight up unsettling. But lately, lately things had been...a different kind of weird. Extra vivid. Extra clear. And extra filling with a kind of...certain inexplicable longing. The sort of dream that isn’t a dream, isn’t abstract, but clear and solid and completely grounded.

Morty saw a lake, large and blue stretching out in front of him. A field of mist, and a town that stood in the distance just beyond his reach. The crisp smell of rain settling over him, taking in his senses. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a need to be there. An overwhelming desire to be in this place. To stay there and find something important. It was a deep longing, and there was no other way of placing or explaining it in his mind. If he weren’t crazy, he’d say almost a...calling. Something in the mist, yearning for him to reach out and touch it. Something important. Something, maybe, that he’d lost. Or something he’d never had to begin with, but had always meant to be there, with him...

Morty could recall reaching out his small fingers into the breaking curtain of vast fog and mist, reaching out, out...out towards that something, towards that town, just trying to touch it, to feel the edges of it, to grab hold of whatever this thing was and finally _have_ it there with him...but as soon as he did, often more than not, he would awake. Staring dumb and blankly at his ceiling, wondering where the hell lake had gone. And in a very real and very strange way, that lake, that town, that place, felt and seemed even more vivid and real than the crazy chaotic nonsense of his own day to day life. Somehow it was almost as if dream and reality had swapped places; the fourteen year old kid struggling through at times monotonous or death-defying daily life tossed towards a kind of haze. A passing fog, something only to clear as he hit the weight of his pillow and lulled back into a vivid, tangible reality. Something he could actually breathe in. Something he could find...if he just reached out far enough... If he just moved far enough. If he could just _search_ for it.

“H-Hey Morty, pass the...pass the salt.” 

Morty sat there at the breakfast table, mind obscured with the recent dreams, hand only just holding up the weight of his heavy head.

“....M-Morty. Hey. E-Earth t-- ***URRPP*** \--o Morty...” His gaze was listless and distant, distracted, a spoon stabbing aimlessly at some eggs before all at once his tenuous hold on his head was disrupted by a small shove from his grandfather, landing his face straight into the plate of breakfast foods.

“HUH--WHA---I’M UP!!” He cried, scrambling back from the face-food-shower, looking around wildly. His whole family stared back at him nonplussed, Rick in particular raising a tenuous unibrow brow.

“Uuuuuuh Ooookaaayyy.” Rick spoke noncommittally, hands thrown jazz-style in the air before reaching passed him for the salt. “T-T-Taking a...a little trip-little adventure off there off on your own huh, Morty?”

His mother frowned, “Are you doing okay, Morty?” Her gaze flickered to Rick, uncertain, “Dad, you haven’t been taking him on adventures during the night again, have you? You know he needs his sleep.”  
  


Rick sighed, rolling his eyes dully, “O-O-Obviously _not_ , or else you’d see me with at least _some_ real accomplishments lately...”

Morty reached a hand, distracted, to his head, placing the cold touch of it there and frowning, “Um, no, I-I-I’m okay mom. Just...uh...distracted. Finals and um...things, you know,” He gave a weak, hasty chuckle, “Y-You know just...um...teenage...school stuff...” 

“Lame.” Summer commented dryly, still flipping on through her phone, “You know the finals aren’t for another three weeks, right...?”

“Well, I think it’s good Morty’s staying ahead of the game. My son, preparing early for his tests.” Jerry spoke up, placing a bracing hand on his son’s shoulder. Morty winced, shifting his eyes to the side somewhat guiltily, forcing a grin and rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, a slight sweat breaking out. 

“Hahah...yeah…r-right...” He spoke feebly, feeling a rock in his stomach, an uncertain fluttering in his chest at the comment. Rick barely caught his eye, a somewhat suspicious narrowed look reflecting in them for half a second as Morty caught his grandfather considering him. Damn it. Rick tended to read dead to rights through him pretty fast. Not that he had anything to hide. Just...strange dreams. That was it, really. 

“Um, okay, cool. So. I guess it’s time-uh--time for school.” Morty gave a bracing grin, getting to his feet, face still covered in food stuffs as he worked his backpack over his shoulders. “Um. So...uh...see you tonight! And...yeah. Hahah.” And with that awkward laugh, the kid started out toward the door, before slamming into the wall just beside the arc leading to the other room with a loud curse. After rubbing his head, groaning and collecting himself, he glanced uneasily back to the family at large before heading out again. Beth raised an uneasy brow at her son’s exit before sighing,

“Teenagers…” She glanced at Summer, “Aren’t you heading out too, Sweetie?” 

Summer glanced up, twirling a hand disinterestedly, “Oh, no, I have a friend picking me up. Unlike some people, I like to ride in _style_.”

Morty swallowed uneasily, considering the situation as he rubbed at the now forming bruise. The dreams...weren’t really a big deal, not exactly. They’d consumed a lot of his preoccupation and thoughts, caught him in times of sleeping off world or at home, and generally been tugging at the back of his thoughts pretty consistently. But really, why was it he so determined to keep them a secret? He shifted a backpack strap uneasily, really only catching the very last his sister’s reply as he made his way to the front door. 

It was something about them, he decided then and there. Something about that place...about the town...that spoke to him. Actually spoke to him. In a way, a certain personal way, where it was too meaningful...and in such a way that he didn’t need anyone else prying into it. Not before he solved that mystery, or really, _really_ pegged where that deep, unrequited longing came from. That sort of calling. It meant something, something that drew him in entirely. 

Hastily, the teen made to slip through the front door, anxiety still stirring over him before abruptly, as he turned to shut it, Rick’s portal gun interrupted the close and his grandfather came out just after him, swapping the gun for a flask. He was now sporting the metal flask, which he gave a quick swig to, and Morty couldn’t help but jump at the man’s abrupt appearance,

“OH--uh. Wow. Hi, Rick.” He grinned, feeling it a bit forced and again nervous ten times over. And again, reminding himself, there was no reason for it. Still he rubbed his arm shiftily and uncomfortably just the same, taking his gaze to the side. His grandfather took the other in and did the honors of shutting the door, with a quick glance at the house and his usual, 

“Right--killbots. Activate for the uh--for the day.” Before turning to speculate, carrying on in studying the other somewhat suspiciously. Morty just smiled kind of awkwardly in the silence as the other folded his arms. 

“...Um...right, well. I guess I’ll just get--”

“So. H-H-Having some...having some trouble sleeping huh, there, Morty?” He wasn’t really sure what to feel about the suspicion that lay heavily in his grandpa’s fairly terse tone, but it made him feel pretty uneasy about the situation. He tried to work out why it mattered. Well.... Except that, maybe, that Rick _had to know_ . Only because Rick had to know _everything._ He grimaced, fighting the urge to groan to himself at the thought. Rick couldn’t help _not_ knowing something, honestly. And if he knew Morty was acting weird...and didn’t know...He braced a grin at the wary thought. Oh geez.

“Oh--uh...geez, yeah, I-I guess! I mean. Just. You know. Regular...regular sleep troubles.” His gaze shifted off to the bush, mind crawling back to the dreams, still hastily rubbing at the back of his neck as he did on habit alone. Rick’s gaze narrowed at that. Pretty much exactly like he’d thought, yeah. Great... _Just_ what he needed to start the day.

“Mmmhhhm. Just. Just regular sleep troubles.” Rick repeated, dully, seemingly unimpressed with that, to which Morty really said nothing at first and sort of stood there uneasily, feeling extra in his desire to get moving. He coughed, clearing his throat again. 

“That...yep. Uh. Just regular. Regular troubles. Nothing-you know, nothing to...worry about. Or anything.” As the kid spoke, the man nonchalantly pulled out a device of some kind, before abruptly a green beam spread over the boy as he stood there, encapsulating him. “W-what--hey--wait, Rick, _what_ \--”

Rick pulled the device to eye level, peering over it as if considering and narrowed his gaze further. Morty stared back and frowned, glancing behind him. He really didn’t have time for this kind of twenty-odd questions with Rick or his need to define _every_ part of everything ever. Especially over something like this...and especially over something that, to him, felt wildly personal.

“....Right, well. I’m...you know, my bus is here so...Yeah, I’ll...see you later, Rick.” And he moved to scurry off from the scene in question, feeling all the more ready to start his day regardless and take off from this situation right here. Rick looked after him, still seemingly considering the boy with a fair amount of scrutiny, but did not bother to pursue him, which, yeah-thank god. He didn’t really feel up for any of this kind of Rick-like-bullshit at the moment...

The bus came to a stop at the corner of the sidewalk, and Morty climbed on into the rush of noise and student traffic, forcing his way towards the back, the knot of anxiety loosening somewhat. He made to settle at the corner in the very back, pressed up against the window, peering over it to make out his grandfather messing away with the device he’d only just used; Morty’s gaze tracking the other uncertainly as the bus pulled out and towards school. Oh man. This...was not going to be a good day. Probably. At least if Rick thought this was worth delving into. He slouched, slumping back into his seat, hugging his backpack to his chest and sighing to himself. What a life.

* * *

_There was a boat. Not a big boat. In fact, only just big enough for maybe two or so people to fit in. He could hear the lap of the waves settling against it, rocking it gently. The creak of the wood. The soft nothing, a stretch of otherwise silence against the endless lake as he drifted out along it. Almost there...right at the horizon…_

_As he reached out, fingers touching through the soft mist...just through it...just across the horizon was a sign, breaking through the edges of gentle white. It stretched out, large, wooden, green and old at the very edge of shore. The letters faded, but still visibly yellow.._

_‘WELCOME TO SILENT HILL.’_

_He took the letters in, heart pounding, racing. **Almost**. Almost there. _

“Morty...MORTY!!”

Morty jolted awake with a snort, hands slamming to his desk with a, “HUGHEIWA--!?”

The class erupted into laughter. Mr. Goldenfold stood at the front, arms folded, not at all impressed. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_...

“I _asked_ if you could solve this equation!! Honestly, you’ll never learn anything if you keep sleeping through class!”

“Um--s--s-sorry Mr. Goldenfold. Just. Um. You know.” He shrank into his desk, feeling the entire weight of the class’s attention bearing against him, giving a tense, weak chuckle, “L-Long night...hahah...”

The day was filled from shuffling from class to class. Lunch came and went in a blur of bologna sandwiches and bad milk and History rewarded him an almost lapse back into his dreamstate during vague talks of some kind of dull civil war movement. Somehow he made it through, albeit still, throughout it there was something stronger now, tugging at his conscious mind, more prominent. More clear. Taking his distracted mind elsewhere. And as the final bell rang, Morty gathered his things from his locker and started outside, feeling relieved to have made it through the whole day. A miracle in of itself of course that Rick had decided to leave him be for the entire day and not drag him into something, which in of itself _was_ pretty miraculous. Rick always needed _something_ and more often than not he’d miss at least the tail end of the whole day’s classes for it. Not that it mattered, on some level, having getting an A automatically in most of them (yeah, well, thanks to Rick and that weird Inception device...thank god Goldenfold had been the most difficult to tackle in that scheme, geez. That had been a nightmare. Literally.)

Morty trekked on down the stairs, glancing sideways to the shuffling ongoings of students. He felt tired and heavy from the day, distracted and distant, and his gaze took upward toward the front of the street near the school. The bus wasn’t there yet, it seemed like. It had been a long time since he’d actually finished the school day long enough to _get_ a ride back home from the bus rather than his grandfather’s portal gun from another dimension either.

The young teen made his way passed the school fence, working toward the bus stop and glancing around wearily. Looked like he was the only kid there just yet. Huh. Weird...he nervously glanced down at his cell phone. Maybe it had already left? God...he really shouldn’t have stayed late at the last class trying to get some idea of the monster load of homework he’d been struggling to catch up on. Not that it mattered, but...still. 

Morty waited. And he waited...Shuffling in his spot, the boy glanced back. Time continued to crawl onward, tick and tock, moment and minute...and as it drug on suddenly he found himself kind of wishing Rick _had_ busted into his classroom to get him for this or that nonsense. Anxiety and weariness stirred and his mind began to drift idly as he stood there, completely on his own, hugging his backpack to his chest, gaze becoming listless and distracted. Dusk poked its head around the corner; slights of reds and dark blues streaking the horizon. And just as he considered just trying to walk home, as his brain dug through the dreams listlessly at the back of his thoughts, prying their way into his conscious world, _finally_ , a bus pulled into the lot with a rumble. 

Morty gave a sigh of relief, hitching his backpack back on properly, before glancing up and pausing. His eyes widened. In front of him was _not_ the school bus. In fact, it wasn’t even a typical bus at all. Decked out in old worn and greying colors, it reflected far more that of a public transport than anything else, but maybe slightly more dated than the ones downtown. It rumbled, grumbling in it’s spot, and he glanced up to the moving digital letters just above the windshield, and with it, his heart stood in place. Time seemed to fall stark still, taking in on itself, bringing a hush to the otherwise quiet, and now quite empty, school yard.

**SILENT HILL...**

The green on black digital letters flashed from one side of the sign to the other and Morty took them in, throat catching and gaze never wavering, mind turning still. He stood there for what seemed an eternity, gaze locked on those letters so crystal clear in his mind and finally swallowed.

That was it.

That was the town.

He looked behind him. His heart began to pick up speed. And he looked to the other side, taking in the otherwise empty street, before carefully his gaze moved on back to those letters. To that town. To that place. To that...calling. The yearning that swam through his heart. He took another full second to lock sights against them, before carefully, uncertainly stepping forward.

The doors cranked on open as if waiting for him...and Morty took another moment to look behind him, before letting out a soft breath, eyes steeling themselves with wary, desperate determination...and the boy stepped in and onto the bus.


	2. The Mortevil Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s to the few who are sorta reading this! Thanks guys. You rock.
> 
> [Also I shall be assigning one short playlist per chapter to suit the mood.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LApkHzyKxrw&list=PL7RVjk2hxYREJZ3f-s_3UccRi-4muhErI&index=2&t=0s)

The bus was...well, a bus. A typical, every day, public transport bus. The driver at the front seemed rather bored, overweight, and pretty typical for what you’d expect on these kinds of vehicles, honestly. Morty hesitated, looking between the rows of empty, awaiting seats and then back to the driver lazily waiting for him; the man’s eyes distracted and dull on the open road.

“Um…” He began, but fell quickly silent before the questions could erupt from his mind; instead turning and digging around in a pocket for some change. Without a word, the boy dropped the change into the small grey box indicated at the front and, taking in the bus driver carefully and cautiously one more time, the young teenager hoisted the straps of his backpack, turning to move to the rows of empty seats. He didn’t pause to think about what he was doing. The ludicrousness of it seemed lost to him - to this pull, that distracted calling that spoke to him, tugging at the edges of his mind, festering beneath the surface of every day and deeper into every night. He had to know...he had to understand this. 

The bus gave a small, abrupt squeak, shifting in place, before the rhythmic movement trundled off around him. Morty lost his footing just slightly, fumbling into the side of a seat. “R-Right….” He said, more to himself, bracing against his unease and making his way to the very back.

The very back of the bus was open and wide, a row of seats placed next to wide, open windows. He slipped into the farmost window seat, shifting his backpack off and again to his lap where settled in and waited. His gaze shifted unsteadily against the window, heart still pitting against his chest, mind caught on a fleeting, almost very real high - of excitement, entire anticipation and...a kind of deeper dread and caution. He caught sights and shapes; street signs and houses, the dull ongoings of the regular town after school and nearing dusk. Dogs being walked. People yelling on the road. A normal, every day stream of everyday life. Not too different from the sights he’d be seeing if he _hadn’t_ taken a different bus, frankly. Morty twitched, messing anxiously with the threads from his backpack, gaze firmly against the window; a dim reflection of a nervous, but determined young boy staring, steely eyed, back at him in the cold quiet.

A part of him insisted he message his family before carrying on with this trip. And in these thoughts, Morty hesitated. Rick would probably know where he was anyways. Probably. The man had him tracked, he’d bet anything on it, especially after that time he’d lost half of his personality, “toxins,” and escaped to a new independent life. He’d tracked him before then too, but at the time his other self had been smart enough to dislodge the device from his arm. Now...well. He didn’t really even know where to begin. 

The boy continued to pick at the threads, glancing to his backpack before sighing in apprehension. And, as the anxiety took a peak, he finally pulled open his phone and took to flipping through his contacts, giving in.

_‘Going to be late! Staying with a friend.’_

He stared at the words. Geez... How in the world would anyone believe this. He deleted the last part, hesitating heavily.

_‘Going to be late. Studying with a classmate!’_

Sort of...more believable? He winced, before readying himself and sending the text to his sister who, he knew for certain, would get it more likely than anyone. At least no one would be worried. Right? Morty buried the thoughts, shoving the phone into his backpack and turning a far more guarded expression again to the open road, hoping for as much, but not ready to fester in it. Not now, at least. His mind had other things to work with.

* * *

Time carried onward. The deep anxiety lessened and evened out. And as it turned, dragging along more and more, the shifting and passing of it faded into a dull listlessness. Morty’s eyes grew heavy, the weight of the day, of his thoughts, of the pressing notions and unconscious longings he’d recently been assaulted with trailing ever more toward sleep. Before he knew it, he was lost in a sea of darkness, the weight of his head heavy against the cool, slick glass of the window, body curled up against the corner and his breath slowly coming out deeper and heavier.

_Along the shore there were shadows and shapes. Odd buildings and the distance of shops and street signs. His legs moved, taking on the ground, taking on the weight of that gentle, bracing fog that obscured everything. His gaze moved across the open road, heart racing, eager with excitement, holden by a kind of heavy, cautious dread; and by a certain desperate and anxious desire to continue onward. One step at a time, looking out into the expanse, so close to reaching the place he needed to go. A paper tossed by the wind lay crumpled at his feet, cast aside in an otherwise spotless walk, stopping his trek. He reached down and picked it up, spreading it out against his hands. A photo. A photo of a man. A man with wild blue hair, stubble, and a smile to brighten the sky...and with him, a small, young child, no older than six, embraced in a one armed hug and grinning brightly with a few child teeth missing, into the eye of the camera, sporting a bright yellow shirt. Carefully, with shaking hands he turned the photo over._

_‘817 Sullevin Dr, room 870_

_Welcome home, Morty’_

_  
_ _It was scrawled in a faded, red lettering, a smear of a substance that looked dangerously like..._

_Blood. He was familiar with blood. The texture. The thickness. He was really, really familair with it._

_His gaze took upward, into the mist, a heavy metal pole gripped loosely in one hand, weighing against him, and the photo in the other, taking in the open road, concern and wound anxiety tightening his throat and chest, heart pounding once again in time with the silence shifting all around. “817 Sullevin Drive.” He spoke softly, to no one. Recognizing the address in his mind, flooding with familiarity._

A screech caused him to awake, and Morty blinked dully with a start, the smells and rumbling sounds of the bus coming slowly back against his sleep-addled mind. It took a few moments for him to take in the old, worn, greying seat back in front of him, the sleek cold of the window at his head, and the drool making a sticky pool down the side of his cheek. When he did, he blinked, sitting up wearily and looked to the front of the bus. They had stopped. His eyes turned to the window, mind catching up slightly with himself, the faded edges of the dream seeming to slip away from him as he took in the cold darkness just outside. 

…...This was it. 

Already his heart was beginning to remember where he was, climbing into the back of his throat at the realization, and Morty got unsteadily to his feet, the sleep still slowly slipping away, piece by piece, to be replaced into the world around, on the old bus, worn and stuffy and _very_ real. 

“Silent Hill. Last stop.” The bus driver’s voice drawled back and he looked sharply forward. Morty’s gaze flickered from the window, the open side of a road, and back to the front. He took a second to consider himself, stealing his resolve. This was _it_.

The small boy swallowed and felt his heart leaping against his chest, and, one step at a time, clutching to his bag instinctively, the young boy moved out toward the front of the bus. The bus continued to grumble and vibrate gently beneath him in the idle stillness, taking him more and more back to the present, outside his own head, and he took a full second to take in the darkness that spread out from the front window. He held his bag tighter and gave a last moment to glance at the bus driver who said nothing to it at all, still seeming rather preoccupied.

“Um...well. Uh. Thanks.” He glanced back, but his only companion of the trip seemed not to even notice, as if just a faded piece of an otherwise old, worn out bus. He swallowed.

_‘Welcome home, Morty.’_

The letters seemed to flash against his mind, crawling back from his dream, and he felt overwhelmed with a certain sense of excitement and a very deep unease. 

Gently, hesitantly, the boy pushed onward, the doors collapsing open as he stepped down the few steps into a burst of open, fresh night air. His feet found solid ground and he looked back one last time from the dim bus stop to the flooding interior of electric, artificial lighting and the faded shadow of the overweight driver...before the doors snapped shut with a final clank. The bus stood idle for all of a few moments before all at once pulling out and shifting around with a squeal; turning back the way they had come in, into the rumbling darkness. 

Morty stood there in the following sea of silence that was left behind with him. He took in the air around him, gaze filtering through the dark, open space, heart still gently hammering away against his chest. His anticipation continued to grow against him, in it a sort of desire that he couldn’t put into any real words but thrilled over him. The actual presence of _being here_ taking hold in his heart. He felt empowered and fleetingly charged, so entirely awake now that he’d arrived. All hints of his dream and the exhaustion that had followed him through the day, plagued his distracted mind, vanished into the night. Above all of this, he felt the need to move. 

Above him was a flickering street lamp, dimming and brightening with a slight hum. And, he found at his side the old worn out space of a bus stop, sitting beneath the arch of it a green chipped bench held together in concrete blocks.

His eyes moved along the road, seeking out his next step. The next step forward. He took in the dirt and gravel and finally fell on a large gated fence pulled open to reveal a far more open and clear, paved space. A dimly lit parking lot. And just passed it, a small wall paved over a cliffside.

A few cars spread scattered out along what he could make out, still and dark and abandoned. A public restroom stood too, concrete and small, greying in faded graffiti and grime and overcast in dim lighting. The whole of it overlooked that brick wall that canvased along a line, sillotting a sharp drop off, revealing a kind of leveled forest of pine trees that petered off into open expanse. 

In a split decision the boy took toward the space, slipping his backpack back on his shoulders and moving toward the old wall overlooking a spread of trees, determination flooding through him. There was a certain empowerment in the movement, and with every step, he was sure he was going to seek out and find the right answers. The illusive ideas and needings, all just beyond this wall, this space. He felt closer now. And so much more connected. More than he’d been in months, months of those _dreams_. And here he was. In the sheer reality of them.

He passed the abandoned restrooms and, moving his way over, the teen peered gently over the edge of the wall, eyes cautiously taking in what he could. He could make out a sea of mist, clouding the number of pines that were peeking upward, out over the downward slope and high against it. Beyond which he could just make out a lake and the distant shapes of a town. 

Was this it? He strained to make out more than the faded, greying blots and shadows. But, even as he did, the teen felt _so_ sure of it. He felt like he recognized the air. It tasted the same. _Felt_ the same. He could see the scenery, the cool freshness of the trees, the embracing vapor of the fog on his skin, in his lungs. The space around him was _it_ , it was the same, and it was, in its own way, intoxicating to be sensing and embracing it in the waking world. Just like his dreams. He felt the excitement growing, churning in the same desperate sense of need.

His gaze drifted back to the few vehicles parked not too far out. There was one in particular that caught his attention - a...Pontiac, he guessed? He only knew a little about cars, but it looked just about like something his dad or Rick may have once drove, ages ago. Old and teal and worn beyond its years, the door set ajar and seemingly abandoned, alongside an open trunk, parked inconsistent at an edge to the rest of them. He frowned just slightly, somewhat curiously, glancing around him uneasily. No one was there. Not a soul. A stretch of empty darkness seemed to spread lightly, touching at his senses, keeling into the isolation.

He stepped forward, making his way cautiously to the car and made to peer in somewhat uneasily. In the darkness he made out some old leather seats, the worn nature of the vehicle and on the front seat, a large old paper of some sort. Uncertain, the boy took a closer look, reaching out to it. A map. An _old_ map. And across the front, clear in bold lettering, the words “ **Silent Hill**.” 

His heart picked up a pace and he gently took hold of it, handling it as if he’d found a rare piece of treasure. 

He took it closer to get a better look, studying the front of it carefully and only making out parts in the faded dark; the street lamps above flickering dully but at least providing very real, tangible light for his gaze to follow. 

“Huh…” He whispered, and, taking another look over it, finally made out a bus stop just outside the town against the paper. “Toluca Lake.” He said aloud, tasting the name against his tongue, trying it out. It felt familiar. Familiar enough for him to follow the line of it, to the town, from where he stood now just at the outskirts. After getting a sense of it, the boy began to fold the map, swinging his backpack around, undoing one of the zipper pockets and storing it away for safekeeping. “Um..” He spoke aloud, glancing around the car interior rather suddenly. “Sorry for...uh. Stealing...and stuff...” He said, again out loud to no one, but definitely feeling at least sincere in the apology. And with that, awkwardly, he pulled back out, glancing along the open lot once more. Man. Hopefully whoever this car belonged to didn’t need it...Who did with google maps and technology now a days anyways? It was probably fine.

The air continued to hit him, full and bracing, drowning his concerns, refocusing his thoughts. With it, that same darkness of night continued pressing in all around him. He could hear the gentle distance of the lake, and the cold bite wafting up from it, urging him onward. 

The boy glanced again down the road from which he came, to the obscure shadow of the bus stop that flickered in and out, giving it just one last look...and then turned his back towards it, plowing forward. He followed along the wall overlooking the lake, trailing a hand at its edge, heart beating out once more, feet taking off against the ground. He was ready for this.

He paused to frown as the parking lot came to a holt; a large metal gate towering over him...before glancing to his side, he spotted a space opening in between the wall and catching the stark image of a green sign with an arrow scrawled against it which read, “Toluca Lake.” It pointed down an open flight of grey stone stairs in the break.

Bingo. 

Morty hoisted his bag, and started down the ancient looking stone steps. They evolved outward, falling out onto a dirt path, surrounded by the stretches of pine and forest and thick wood. A heavy mist started to settle in and the boy took off against the path even further into it, determination overcoming him, with the only sound the crunching of dirt and gravel beneath his shoes and the soft lapping of the lake at a distance. It was clear to see that the path was along a mountainside of some kind, open without any guardrails or fences; falling instead off into a slope of trees, where, while he couldn’t make it out beyond them, he assumed the lake lay. 

And as he moved, in the distance, noises crept up from the lake. The washing of water. The subtle shifts of nature. A branch that crackled and snapped. With an otherwise silence he couldn’t place. Morty’s eyes drug uncertainly behind him, the anticipation growing, tension tightening at the edge of his skin. The isolation stretching onward, closing in against the fog. The path carried along, winding the expanse of the mountainside he trekked. 

A part of him already longed to pull out his map as he carried on into it, just to be sure, but even at the thought he knew he’d probably have too much trouble making it out in the dark. He glanced back, working a hand to bring out his cellphone for light and frowned when finding himself unable to turn it on. Dead...boy. Of course it was. He squinted upward, trying to recall if he’d charged it this morning and trying to work out just how long he’d been on that bus. “Geez….” He whispered in the dark, studying the path before him. It looked like he was on his own, in every sense of the word. The boy stuffed the phone back in his pack. The subtle strangeness around him wasn’t enough to dissuade his movement. And it wasn’t enough to stop him from carrying on. Honestly, maybe this was a good thing. No interruptions. No nothing. Not from family, not from anyone.

The path stretched out. Time coming in beats of shoes against dirt. Weighing against his breath, his movement, each and every step climbing forward, downward, along the dirt path stretching on and on. Slight hushes began to stir out against the fog as he moved. At first very subtle, and very soft sounds. Things he couldn’t place, just out of his reach. At the edges of his senses. What sounded...softly like voices, but...strangely, coming over him as more soothing, somehow, collapsing into the rustling of the trees like a light he couldn’t see. Even in the mist, carried on the edge of the lake, came these weird whisperings, movings against the wind...maybe even just the wind itself. It was hard to differentiate it. His mind playing tricks...or like a dream in the waking world. And it was hard to see very far ahead, beyond, to make out anything at the source of it all. 

While he tried to take it in, heart still pounding, he couldn’t quite make it out beyond the hush of the crashing waves... “Geez.” He whispered again, tightening his grip on his straps and turning onward. But for some reason despite it, he really wasn’t scared. Not...exactly. Despite the situation at hand, the isolation, the darkness and the certain clear strangeness...Anxiety and excitement still seemed to overcome him, but he didn’t feel...afraid, not in the sense he usually might. It was...actually almost calming in a way, that hush of calming sound, like...a soft kind of song or a peaceful dream of some kind. A space of gentle voices, becoming more and more clean and clear as he walked along. And...Morty wasn’t scared of them.

Maybe it _was_ the odd sounds...the softness, the breath of them calling against the open path he walked, surrounding him. Maybe he should be scared. But as he continued, he just didn’t feel it. It didn’t _feel_ dangerous. In fact. In fact, it was the opposite. And for whatever reason, the whispering didn’t frighten or even startle him at all. And...honestly, if anything, it was...almost soothing. Comforting. A soft space gently moving into the rushing of air and wind. Something...that almost felt like...a home. Of some kind. A ridiculous metaphor, but...heck, it fit.

The young boy stepped onward through it, and while he did he discovered himself abruptly sniffing slightly. Nonplussed, he reached up, wiping away at dribbles of tears that came out from his eyes in a slight startled surprise. He was crying? He took a moment to stare at his hands, to stare at the tears, confused and bewildered in the calm hush all around him. Before, carefully, he looked up, and in a stunned moment came to a sight of shadowed figures stretched out before him.

Shadowed figures littered the path in the fog. Lumps, at first, is what he thought, tears staining hot and wet, still fresh against his cheeks. And as he took it in, that soft sound, the gentle washing of air in a kind of soft, reassurance of whispers began to drift, distancing itself before leaving the space altogether as the mist began to part. The sense of safety and ease quickly vanished along with them, and he finally saw it. Before him, spreading out in the parting of drifting and parting fog...lay bodies.

But not just a few. What seemed to be hundreds of small, young bodies, faces brutally smashed or overturned. Not too far from him and clearly not old enough to rot, still fresh, still filled with color, the ground swallowing some, others left to the wayside, abandoned, as if tossed careless against the will of the earth. Some, as he trembled, stepping numbly and helplessly forward, wishing fiercely and abruptly for the return of that strange, supernatural earlier space of relief, pushing through the air and mist, beginning to rot away. And as he moved between them, breath catching sharply in his throat, eyes wide and shocked, the different spread of corpses seemed to become more and more decayed...appearing more rotted with every step. He walked as if in a dream. Dumbstruck. Shaking, stunned and numb from it. He couldn’t make his way out from it, simply moving between them, simply caught between shock and dumb kind of coldness, a fierce disbelief stunned over him.

In reality...Morty saw a lot of death. He really did. He saw a lot, and he saw it fast and hard and cruel. He saw a lot of things that he shouldn’t...really care about. Because there was so much of it. The world, the universe, the entire _cosmos_ of all of reality was filled with so much death that...in the way Rick put it, these things shouldn’t really matter. No matter where they were. None of it should matter, not when it was happening everywhere... not when he, when life was so small and everything so, _so_ very big. He could practically hear the words in his head, mimicked in a cold, disinterested tone in Rick’s voice, _“M-Morty, none of this matters. The universe is a messed up and chaotic place, you just...don't think about it. It's worthless.”_ His voice seemed extra clear in that tomb of mist. In that rain of bodies. In the space that he trembled, moving out against. He felt...young. Small. Like a kid, something he hadn’t really felt in so long. And he wondered what Rick would say to this.

He wouldn’t say anything, he’d bet. The man wouldn’t even be bothered, would he? Picturing the bigger picture...too big to get pulled into something so meaningless. Rick always had the habit of knowing everything. Everything. It was a heavy reality, and he knew, as much as he hated it, it was...actuality. And in the most twisted of the sense...it was true. Rick was right so often, as much as he hated it, as much as it confused and baffled and overturned every sensibility...his grandfather seemed to know _everything_ with him always left at the other end, knowing nothing at all. That was apart of the joke of the cosmos. Morty Smith knew nothing about the world. And his grandfather got the golden fucking A ribbon of knowing it all. He was the sidekick. And Rick the ego filled, god like genius.

But...still...whatever he told himself, whatever truth did or didn’t remain in that...here he was. And in reality...whatever Rick would or wouldn’t do, this shook him. And it shook him beyond any sensibility he could express. The boy moved almost as if just a ghost, as if just one of the myriad of bodies alongside him, a single soul in a mass grave. Stepping through the hoards of corpses against the path, eyes still wide and shocked, barely registering anything as he turned his gaze disconnectedly between the separate corpses. Rick wasn’t here for him to stumble after, calling out words and stutters of shock. He wasn’t here to yell at him or tell him not to think. Nothing was here but him. Morty. Alone. This was his world now, his adventure, his space. His skin crawled. His heart beating rapidly, silent fingers grasping through his chest, dragging it downward against him. A certain sense of grief pulling the cold with it.

And Morty trudged forward. Each of the bodies he passed grew slowly more decayed in every shaking step, the smell of it soaking in as they did, filling every piece of him, every ounce, overwhelming him and crawling in through his skin and eyes and seeping through his brain. His feet stopped of their own accord as he finally reached what seemed the end of the hundreds of them, foot sharply hitting the edge of a small hand, hardly a hand anymore actually, more of a skeleton clung together with leathery, faded skin. Bristles of hair clung to a skull, the rest half buried in leaves. And as he stared, in the hand...clutched by the grip of boney fingers, there was something settled there. The boy just stood there...and stared. And he kept staring, feeling stupid, idiotic and far too numb. After a long, drawn out moment, and with careful, trembling hands, he finally managed to pick out the crumpled paper from the corpse’s grip. Gently, and still feeling detached and distant, he unfolded it.

“817 Sullevin Drive.” He read aloud, voice dull and empty, clear in the dead air. The boy swallowed, staring down at the sheet of graph paper, the ink against it faded and worn at the very last words. _'Be careful, Morty...'_ His gaze turned upward, slowly, toward the crisp of the clearing fog, toward the path, heart hitched against his throat.

Beyond it, and beyond himself, it opened, giving a large space beyond the current massacre, beyond the heavy stench of rot, decay and death, and to a more open path strung along with an old wired fence. He didn’t know what to do. The boy continued to shake. The paper found its way into a pocket...and before anything else, he moved forward. Feeling heavy and weighted, as if sloshing through heavy water, Morty pulled himself along...continuing down onto the path, and toward the open space, barely registering or making out an arc of a metal fence just ahead.


	3. Ricksedent Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The world's shortest chapter. But oh so important.
> 
> [Here is this chapter's short soundtrack.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1DjgY6WrqY&list=PL7RVjk2hxYRE6J4aF5Ode6LbMlYl8Neo3)

Ahhhh. And there it was. That familiar darkness. That familiar, same, same as always, goddamn _ironic_ darkness. The fog spread clear and swift like a serpent, spiraling in around him in an envelope of rapid, fluid movement and white density. It sprang up to encase everything, as if to eat him whole.

“HAHAH! Y-Yeah, come and--come and...and get some, you--YOU **_MOTHERFUCKERS_ ** !” Rick’s voice tore wild against his own grinding tone, legs shifting beneath him on instinct, readying in a heartbeat for a fight. Eager for a fight. **READY** for fucking this. And always, for this. After all here he was. Again. Again. And again and again and again and _again and_ **_again_ **...

He stared out, battle ready, eyes steel and rock, viciously into the dark. And there, beyond him, beyond the whispering movement, rapidly shifting mist was _this place_ . Hoho, yes. Yes. As always. _This place._ He grinned, baring his teeth like bitter malt whiskey, grinding them against his own jaw. Out in front of him were figures. Hundreds of them. And out there, in that town, he saw these fucking monsters for what they truly were.

“ **COME AND GET ME Y-YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!!** ” He screamed, fists gripped in a deathlike vise, chest open; the old man pushing off and rushing out from the fog in a sprinting movement, snatching a metal pipe, broken off against a pile of abandoned crates. He roared out into the cold dark with pure adrenaline and rage, going at one of the monsters with the pipe and crashing it down against sick, thick, clear gore. Flesh, entrails, blood and nameless liquids spilled and oozed, splashing outwards onto solid concrete, onto his skin, into his mouth and eyes. And he laughed. He laughed, wild in full triumph, in an utter and complete dominant bloodlust. “MOTHERFUCKERS!” He screamed again, laughing, but pain ripping at him. Grief tearing against him. The man roared in defiance, rushing the anger, the hatred, the utter fucking disgust from his system, blood soaking his face, “FUCKING-FUCKING GET SOME, Y-YOU-- **_YOU FUCKS!_ **” The gore piled up fast with every swing, every thunk of metal on flesh, every furious rush even as his adrenaline continued to kick in, his breath hitching, his eyes wild and furious and dangerously close to animalistic. And he scoured the scene. The same scene. The always, same scene.

It was just him. Again. Standing in the middle of _this place_ , panting and alone, a trail of meat and flesh and gore wreaking havoc out around him, across the open street. And he stood, out of breath, mind numb and ringing, but a bearing grin still fierce against his face. He laughed weakly, looking out and around him. In the emptiness. In the cold. And still grinning, he looked down at the bodies. Disfigured monsters. Disfigured lumps. But all...all too clear. 

He’d known what they were the moment he’d arrived in this place, so many years ago. Too many to even bother tracking anymore. Every night he hit unconsciousness, whether wasted in alcohol, whether up to his balls in any fucking mind altering _anything_ he could get his paws on, it was here he awoke to. This place. _His_ place. This town. 

“....Rick?”

A voice squeaked behind him. And suddenly, his heart pounded cold. And he turned, careful and stoic, expression frozen, to turn his sights on someone...a someone who was _never_ here...quite like this. Well-In some sense, he was. Always at a distance. Always running. Always the fucking fuckass at the edge of his sights. God, he could _still_ see the goddamn years he’d spent chasing that **_stupid_ ** fucking idiot; through every nook and fucking cranny this place had to offer...every horror movie everything...but...he’d never caught him. Never seen him in this sight of full spectrum. And as his eyes fell on the tiny, ghost pale grandson, covered in shades of gore, eyes wide and startled and bewildered and...expression fully terrified, staring back at him, he couldn’t shake how fucking _real_ this felt. How solid Morty felt. How entirely _vivid_ the other was.

Things were always real here.

But this…

_Morty…_

Rick paused, and as he stared, body instinctively straightening, breath still heavy, the metal pole dropped with a cold clatter. And he continued to take in the visual, the sheer realness of the other captured stark and white out through the dark.

“....M-M-M...Morty?” His voice croaked, the bewilderment too, very clear cutting against it. And as they stared at each other, his frown deepened, “T-T-The...the hell?” And he knew, on instinct, pure gut wrenching, deep thrust to heart instinct, this was **_Morty_** Morty. His Morty. Not the one he’d been chasing like a goddamn fucking ghost god knew how long. But the Morty. As in real Morty. And in another moment, somehow filled with uncertainty and feeble tension, their eyes locked.

_“Rick...what are you--d-doing here?”_

He heard the small, forced words as the last echoing phrase that hit through his brain; eyes startling to the ceiling above, breath catching in his throat.

...His room.

A dull, stained ceiling. Filled with neglect. His stupid home.


End file.
